


Harry Potter Drabbles

by toujours_nigel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23873221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/pseuds/toujours_nigel
Summary: written to tumblr prompts, archiving
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson & Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Scorpius Malfoy & Blaise Zabini, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 6





	1. Remus/Sirius, Diffibulate

“Did you really need to get a collar?”

“I’m a  _ dog _ ,” Sirius said for the fifth time. “Even most Krups have collars.”

“I know,” Peter said, also for the fifth time, “but it’s weird.”

It was. Naked except the collar Sirius looked unsettling, at once dangerous and vulnerable. Attractive, but he wasn’t sure Peter saw that and knew James didn’t.

“It’s hard to get off, I’ll give you that,” Sirius grouched, demonstrating. His fingers scrabbled uselessly at the tiny buckle under his hair.

“Moony’ll help,” James said. “Won’t you?”

“I…” Merlin, James  _ knew _ . “Come sit down and move your hair.”


	2. Remus/Sirius, Mariturient

“We should do this,” Sirius slurs into the champagne dawn. “When Voldemort’s gone, we should do exactly this, all the food and music and people and lights.”

“And hassle and rubbish,” Remus says and grins when Sirius grimaces right on cue. “Alright. Going to be no dearth of parties when Voldemort’s gone, mind, but we can throw one too.”

He’s halfway through tossing the leftover cake when Sirius catches him by the wrist, dumping two marzipan roses.

“Not a party, idiot. We should get _married_ , exactly like this. Say yes, Moony.”

“Yes,” Remus says. “Yes. That was a terrible proposal.”


	3. Blaise & Scorpius, Cacozealous

“You’re not my father,” Scorpius says one evening when Blaise thought they were getting on just fine, because the Malfoys live to drive him to drink.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” Blaise says, thinking longingly of the Cheval Blanc he can’t have while in charge of a child. “Explain it.”

Scorpius huffs, in that moment so like Draco Blaise can’t see any trace of Asteria.

“You’re not my father. I already have one, and you’re not him. But you don’t need to be.”

“What, then?”

Scorpius sighs, long-suffering. “I don’t know. Just stop being an inferior copy of Father.”


	4. Remus/Sirius, Famelicose

Remus recovered his manner midway through the third bar of Honeyduke’s Finest, looking up to choke out, “Thank you.”

“I think this one’s caramel,” Sirius said, rooting around in what had been a bulging bag five minutes ago. “No, honey. Wait, here we go.”

“Sirius.”

“Moony?”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

Sirius, an ill-mannered brat who couldn’t handle gratitude, scoffed. “I’m having at least one Chocolate Cauldron, fair’s fair. You wouldn’t believe the state of Sosi Alley, dripping pink.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . “Am I disrupting plans?”

“It’s Lupercalia,” Sirius said. “I’m with my wolf. You want… hmm, no this is mint.”


	5. Remus/Sirius, Latibule

They sit in silence for a while after Sirius tells him about Voldemort, about the Diggory kid. Cyrene had been a prefect when they were firsties. Remus had taught her son. Sirius fidgets with his cup till Remus lifts his head, dry-eyed.

“Dumbledore sent you?”

“Yes,” Sirius says, after nodding fails to elicit acknowledgement. “I wouldn’t have come otherwise. I hoped you lived somewhere else by now.”

“No.”

“No. You don’t have any wards up, either. You should.”

“I have fifteen. You’re just keyed into all of them.”

“All fifteen?”

“Even the one I put up yesterday. Finish your tea.”


	6. Draco & Blaise & Pansy, Antipelargy

“My mother?”

“Valentina has her.”

He follows Pansy like a child trailing after its mother: like himself, hand-in-hand with Narcissa. He had been a curious child, bubbling over with questions.

He goes quietly, eyes carefully on the floor.

Blaise tucks him close while Pansy drops the wards on her door, fire crackling up in the hearth and windows opening as they enter. Phroog Alley is hushed quiet, mid-winter still in April.

He eats, drinks mulled wine as Blaise draws a bath, Pansy makes up the bed. In time he sleeps burrowed in the serpentine warmth of their bodies around him.


End file.
